


Double Dutch in my Mouth

by KH-Scribes (Keileigh_L_99)



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Gen, Multi, Speech Disorders, Stuttering, Tourette's Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keileigh_L_99/pseuds/KH-Scribes
Summary: It started when she was 7, words chattered over others, and gulp. Her sentences were interrupted by the tic.Her mother called her dumb, Myrtle tried to heal her, her friends could only handle so much, and Misty, well she just listened carefully through the stuttering and tics.-Younger child to teen AU where Cordelia has a stutter and chronic tic disorder - it follows her life growing up with it in the coven and the hardships that come. Set where Cordelia has always lived at Robichaux's, and all the girls are close in age.(Cordelia's POV unless states otherwise)





	Double Dutch in my Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is very loosely based on my person experience with chronic tic disorder, my stutter, and slight lisp. I felt like this story line worked best for Cordelia – and I mean who doesn’t want some hurt/comfort teen foxxay? I hope everyone enjoys, I am not sure how long this will be yet, I am just seeing where it takes me.

 

It started when I was 5, well I guess that was the first time people took notice of it. I have struggled since I started speaking, my mouth would form the beginning of words, and then just repeat the beginning – again, and again, and again. Stuttering was my daily life, and therefore I spoke little in front of anyone, perhaps my auntie Myrtle here and there.

My mother – well she was at home so rarely that it didn’t matter, I had rehearsed a simple  
“Hello mother.”  
And could get my way through it. It was enough to please her until she got a scotch (or whatever she was drinking that day). Two words, I had to rehearse two words alone in the greenhouse for weeks,   
“Hel, hel hello, m, m, mo, moth, mother.”  
So disjointed, mother was right, it did make me sound like a fool.

When I was 6 a small noise escaped my throat, I remember snapping my fingers, or running my teeth over my bottom lip incessantly, but no noise had come yet, and then, one gulp, two gulps, I was so scared a second noise came from my mouth, fa, fa, it sounded odd, but yet there was no controlling it. I managed to supress what I would learn were called vocal tics for another year, my snapping fingers, clapping hands, and biting lip working well enough.

However it got worse when I was 7, I remember the first time anyone else heard it, I looked down ashamed as my tic overtook my mouth, and my sentence ended in the middle, for no one wanted to attempt to continue a conversation with someone who was constantly interrupting themselves and others.

I remember my aunt being so sorrow filled as she couldn’t understand,   
“Auntie Myrtle! I figured it ou – gulp, gulp – Figured it out…”  
I exclaimed, so excited that for once I was able to ignore the gulp of my throat as the tic escaped, my wonderful aunt looked up at me while we were in the greenhouse,  
“Oh child, how I wish I could help you.”  
My aunt said, pity in her eyes, sorrow in her voice.   
“Help me with – gulp – with what? – gulp, gulp.”  
and just as I finished asking I understood what she meant, I looked down at the flower I had gotten to sprout up once more and sighed, my stutter worsening in despair,  
“Oh, I, I, s, see.”

Why for once could my mouth and brain not mess with me, for once could I say a sentence without a stutter or tic coming through?

When I was 8 I went mute for almost the full year, it didn’t help my ticking, it did help my stutter – well since I wasn’t speaking there was no way to stutter. That is when mother began bringing men home with her, with no regard for the children she housed in this coven. She drank more, began snorting cocaine, and when she was sober enough to do anything that was to order me around like her slave, and hit me when I didn’t oblige.

My mother loathed that I had refused to speak, except she always said one thing to me,   
“You know, ‘Delia, I miss your voice, but I will never miss that blasted st, stu, stutter.”  
She exclaimed, laughing as she made me into a mockery,   
“at least without speaking, I don’t have to listen to you, although, was it the stutter that made you sound foolish? Or is it just that you are?”  
Fiona, said to me, a cackle in her voice as she nursed her gin and tonic. That is when I found out an ability I had never known, and my mother’s glass shattered into pieces, and in an instant I was across the room.

At 10 years old it was customary to be thrown across the living room, banished to my bedroom, or I would run to the greenhouse. This time I had ran to the greenhouse, Auntie Myrtle was playing the Theremin, I never quite understood her love for the instrument, but she stopped as I ran in, I tried to speak, to tell her what happened by I was stuck repeating “Fi, Fi, Fi” over and over again, while gulps and neck jerks accompanied, great, I was having a tic attack, just what I needed when blood was dripping from my forehead and I probably had bruised ribs.   
“Fiona did this to you, chicken?!”  
My aunt exclaimed, as she came over to me and tried to hold my head in place, shushing me in a comforting manner, pulling over the first aid kit with a wave of her hand she unwrapped some gauze and placed it on my head.  
“She isn’t fit to be your mother – anyone’s mother – and she isn’t fit to be supreme.”  
Auntie Myrtle said under her breath as she finished taping the gauze to my head and gave me some aspirin to take, as I drank from her mug which now held cold tea. The combo of the taste of aspirin and the cold unsweetened tea made me shudder a little bit.

“Auntie My, Myrtle? Will, I, I… Will I ever get be, bet, better?”  
Myrtle looked up from the plants she had busied herself with and sighed,   
“I don’t know my little bird, I hope so, and I am always looking, but I simply do not know.”  
I looked away from her and read an incantation in Latin, and some blueberries sprouted from the bush, I picked them off and ate them,   
“Oh, okay.”  
My aunt looked at me in awe,   
“Delia, what did you just do?”  
I looked at the blueberry bush and shrugged,  
“Made the pla, plants, ripen, qui, quicker.”  
Myrtle just shook her head, a smile wide on her face. It was odd, but then, Auntie Myrtle was always a little odd.

By age 12 I became aware that I wasn’t going to get better, and that my stutter and tic would be a part of my life. I had been to doctors and was told I had chronic tic disorder, my vocal tics had disappeared for a few months at a time, and it made me so happy – even if I still had motor tics – but then they showed up again, and that is what would happen often, a month or two of freedom and then, gulp, it would show up again. Snapping, clapping, and my lip biting stayed a constant part of my life, slowly new tics came and went, but the first few have remained my whole life.

When I was 13 – well my birthday was in 2 days – I had one of the worst tic attacks of my life, people thought it was a seizure for a while.  
I was walking down the stairs, I was nervous I had an English exam coming up and then, gulp, gulp, gulp, “stop it” I whispered angrily at myself, and then of course my brain decided that now was the time to – and my neck jerks to the side violently, my chin coming down on my shoulder, and I didn’t realise this must’ve went on for a while because all of the sudden on of the teachers at the Coven was by my side and Madison a friend of mine was staring at me,  
“Miss Campbell? Will Cordy be okay?”  
Madison asked, her tone scared – which she never was.  
“I, I, I, am – gulp, gulp, - f, fi, fine.”  
I stuttered out, my neck now hurting a lot, tears in my eyes.  
Miss Campbell and Auntie Myrtle took me to the doctors after that tic attack and I was forced to wear a neck brace to make sure I hadn’t and wouldn’t cause permanent damage to it.

When I was 15, Madison could hold a conversation with me for maybe a minute, but then would begin to roll her eyes, tell me to forget it and go back to whatever she was doing. Zoe showed up, but she was dating Kyle and didn’t really hang out with me. Queenie was nice, and fun, she stayed in the greenhouse with me sometimes, but she always left soon after, my tics bothered her ‘vibes’ while she did her voodoo. But then, then Misty Day showed up.

Misty Day came to the coven one day, she told us how her family had banished her due to her powers, and she ran off before they could perform an exorcism on the girl. She was only a few months younger than I – in fact, she was almost exactly 6 months younger than I, her birthday being in June with mine in December. Her accent was so strong, the drawl that came from it I had never heard before – maybe once or twice at the grocery store. Her long curly hair, I don’t know why but I already wanted to run my fingers through it, her pink lips moved softly as she spoke, and yes. Not only did I have to deal with people not wanting to talk to me because I stuttered and ticked; no now of course Madison let out that I was pansexual too, but it didn’t matter so much to me now, because it meant I could hopefully talk to (maybe flirt with) this, Misty Day.

I stepped forward and reached out my hand, a rehearsed line falling from my lips with somewhat of an ease,   
“My name is Cordelia Goode. It’s, n, n, nice to meet you.”  
I looked down in annoyance at myself, damnit Cordelia, you can’t even get your rehearsed lines out now, I thought to myself, and then realised that Misty was speaking,   
“It’s nice ta meet ya too, Cordelia! I’m Misty, well you already knew that, huh?”  
Whom I assumed to be Cajun, woman chuckled.

Myrtle then stepped in and placed a hand on Misty’s back,  
“I am so glad you found us, but I am sad to say we do not have any single bedrooms left, you’ll have to sha-“  
I cut my Auntie Myrtle off,  
“Her, and I can sh, share a room!”  
I exclaimed, and then realised I probably sounded too eager, I heard Madison whisper something to Zoe and then both of them chuckled, but I saw Misty roll her eyes and then smile at me,  
“I’d love ta share wit’ ya, thank ya ver’ much, Cordelia!”  
I smiled and held out my hand, she picked up the duffel bag she had placed on the floor and made sure her backpack was secure and then we began to walk to my room.

“Well, here we, we are.”  
I said with a gesture of my arm around the room.   
“You can p, put your st, stuff on, - fa, fa -…”  
I went silent and just grabbed her duffel bag and put it on the bed I was going to say, my room was fairly large due to being the Supremes’ daughter, so we could fit two double beds easily in the room, along with a desk, and chaise lounge. I didn’t want or need any of this stuff, but “only the best for my daughter”, Fiona would say, adding on quickly, “Not for her of course, but I have a reputation to uphold, the Goode name.” I hid anger behind my eyes as I quickly left the thoughts of my absent mother.

Misty sat on the bed I had placed her bag on and sort of hopped up and down on it,   
“Ver’ comfy, Dee. Is it okay if I call ya Dee?”  
The curly haired woman asked, I tilted my head in thought and then nodded, as my finger snapped back and forth,   
“Din, dinner is done. But I, I am, s, sure we could fin, find you something.”  
I stuttered my way through the sentence, my face getting red,   
“I am – gulp – sorry. S, sorry about, th, tha, that.”  
But Misty surprised me, and pushed my face up so I was looking at her,   
“Don’ be sorry, Dee. An’ I’m starved, do you have any bagels?”  
She asked normally, she didn’t slow her speech down, she didn’t look at me with pity, she hadn’t rolled her eyes yet, or look bored – but maybe that would come…  
“Ba, bagels? Ye, yeah.”

  
And with that we walked down to the kitchen and began a conversation, one where I wouldn’t have to worry about my stutter or tic, one where the other person waited for me to finish, one where I finally felt heard.


End file.
